


Must Love Dogs (Right Here at the End of the Line)

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Savvy's Stucky Story Times [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (did I get that right is this shrunkyclunks idk), AU, BUT I SWEAR IT ENDS HOPEFULLY AND HAPPILY, COVID19, Coronavirus, Do not copy to another site!, M/M, Modern day Bucky, PLEASE IF YOU'RE TRIGGERED BY THE VIRUS OR QUARANTINE MAYBE DON'T READ THIS, PTSD, Panic Attack, Quarantine, Shrunkyclunks, anxiety attack, modern day steve, no powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: During the virus pandemic, an already fragile Bucky has to venture out to pick up more of his very necessary meds. Returning home, he has a panic attack and retreats into an alley. While there he rescues a dog...or rather, the dog rescues him. Once he calms down, Bucky calls a veternarian's office, and reaches a warm, calm man named Steve.
Relationships: Bucky & PTSD, Bucky & Pal (dog), bucky & steve
Series: Savvy's Stucky Story Times [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655251
Comments: 31
Kudos: 157
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions, Lock Down Fest





	1. Panic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts), [Amythe3lder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/gifts).



> Inspired by a Twitter post from my darling Paia, to whom this is gifted. This story is also gifted to amy, who has had her own travails with venturing out to get meds during all this. Dedicated to everyone struggling right now. You're not alone. We're in this together. The human race is resilient and beautiful and strong. You're amazing.
> 
> Originally posted to Twitter, with all of the character restrictions thereof. Minor edits made to adjust for this platform.
> 
> We're all struggling, to one degree or another, during this world-wide pandemic. I know the world feels dark and narrow right now, my lovelies. But remember that the sun has not failed to rise over millenia, and that it's Spring...the time for rebirth, renewal and fresh starts. We'll come through this on the other side. Maybe more weary and pale than previously, but none of us is truly alone. I love you. Stay safe, stay sane, stay sanitized.

Bucky's palms were so slippery with sweat that he nearly dropped his phone as he pulled it from his pocket. Sam, his counselor at the VA, was his most frequently used contact, and used to panic-soaked calls from Bucky at all hours. Today it was a genuine worry, not just his PTSD dicking with his brain, or a screaming nightmare. No, today it was brutal necessity forcing him outside the comforting, confining walls of his apartment in search of a refill. The meds that kept him (kinda) sane were so restricted under current drug laws that he had to leave his house to pick them up. Even with the pandemic going on he had to leave his house. Because, yanno, an anxiety ridden vet with severe PTSD and a compromised immune system really needed to be outside right now.

Unable to get his fingers to cooperate, Bucky nearly threw his phone at the wall. Instead, he slid down the one behind him, rough brick dragging at his old gray hoodie. Slumping to the questionable ground of the alley, he pulled his feet close to his body, made a tent of his legs and hid his face. Concentrating on his breathing, struggling to control the desire to give in to panic, he at first didn't register the faint sound of whimpering. When he did, he thought it was him--wouldn't be the first time he'd been crying without realizing it. It came again, and he raised his head. Looking around, Bucky nearly missed the small, furry face peering fearfully out from under the edge of a dumpster. Although at first glance it looked like a rat, he realized it was a dog. A puppy, actually. Small and shivering and sad.

"Hey pal," he said hoarsely, holding out his good hand slowly, "You alright?" The puppy ducked back, nothing showing except the watchful gleam of eyes in the darkness. Bucky had moved too fast. "Sorry," he soothed, sniffling. He settled down, crossing his legs. As a former sniper he was used to sitting still for long periods of time. Patience was practically his middle name. After about fifteen minutes whiskers appeared at the edge of the dumpster. After another five, Bucky slowly pulled a crumpled wrapper with part of a protein bar from his hoodie pocket. The crackle sent his little furry companion scurrying back to safety. "Whoops," Bucky muttered, "Sorry bout that, pal. I don't like loud noises or sudden movements either." Moving slowly, he set a piece of protein bar halfway between himself and the dumpster and waited.

Eventually, with a lot of soft coaxing and the remainder of the protein bar, Bucky was able to lure the little fella out. The dog was pitiful: dirty, matted and skinny. It shivered as it ate, eyes darting fearfully toward Bucky. Holding the last piece of food in his fingers, Bucky kept his hand steady, grateful that for once his tremors were still. "Want this last piece, pal? Hm? You gotta be brave to come get it, alright?" They stared at one another. "It's scary, I know," Bucky commiserated. The dog tilted it's head, left ear flopping. "Hard to be brave when the world is such a noisy place. Danger everywhere. But I'm bigger than anything that can hurt you, and I'll keep you safe. Deal?"

The sense of accomplishment he felt when the dog allowed himself to be picked up was greater than when he'd learned to use his prosthetic. "That's right," he crooned, holding the trembling dog against his chest, unmindful of the dirt, the smell, or the nervous pee that had dribbled as he lifted him. "No worries, pal, that'll wash off." He rubbed his fingers tentatively on the dog's head, "Let's get you some help." Palms dry now, heartbeat back to normal, Bucky stood in the alleyway and Googled veternatians offices. Most places were closed with the quarantines, but there had to be emergency services, right?

The fourth place he called finally put him through to a human. "Brooklyn Animal Clinic, this is Steve. How may I help you?"

Bucky breathed out a sigh of relief, "Hi, I found a dog and I um, wanted to bring him in? He's pretty skinny and looks like he could have fleas." He looked down at the dog, who was gazing fearfully at him. "I know you're probably not open, but could you--"

Steve interrupted his babbling, "Bring him by. We're closed, but I'm staying with the kennel animals. I'll take a look."

Relief rushed in, "Great! I'll be there in just a minute. I'm not that far away. Don't-don't leave, okay?"

His nerves had returned, and he hated to hear the shake in his voice. Steve must have heard it as well. "How about we stay on the phone while you get here?"

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," Steve said warmly, "I'm gonna be right here at the end of the line."


	2. Pal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky meet face to face.

Steve kept his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he walked through the cattery, checking the water and food levels in the cat’s bowls. Most of the cats were asleep, but one or two sat up to watch him curiously. He put a friendly finger through the mesh and let Ginger, a wild-haired orange tabby, sniff at him. He chooked softly at her and she turned her back disdainfully.

“Almost there,” Bucky said breathlessly in his ear. He’d grown increasingly agitated during his trip toward the clinic, and Steve was worried he’d be near a breakdown by the time he arrived.

“No rush,” he said soothingly, “I’m here til seven. The fur babies and I will be waiting here for you.” He stopped, thinking, “Do you like coffee? I can make a fresh pot.”

“Um, yeah,” Bucky said, sounding kinda surprised, and happily, less agitated. “I love coffee.”

“Me too,” Steve said happily, headed toward the staff kitchen. “I’ll get some brewing, it should be ready right when you get here.”

It was. A tentative knocking sounded at the front door just as the fragrant aroma of fresh coffee began to fill the lobby. Steve peered out the door; although he’d never met Bucky, somehow he knew it was him. It wasn’t just the small dog shivering in his arms; he  _ looked _ like a Bucky. He also looked cold, stressed and worried. Steve unlocked the door, “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” Bucky slipped in the door, looking up at Steve through his messy hair. His eyes were a beautiful blue, wounded, haunted, and they pierced Steve straight in the heart. _ Hello, _ he thought, dazed, staring at Bucky. 

“Um, and this must be Pal,” Steve babbled, scrambling for his composure. He reached out gentle hands for the cowering dog, moving slowly, letting him sniff at his hands. Steve was big, muscle-bound, lumbering, often tongue-tied with people, but always comfortable with animals. Strangely he felt that Bucky would respond well to the gentle way he approached animals.

“I haven’t really named him,” Bucky hedged nervously. He reluctantly let go of the dog, who quivered nervously in Steve’s arms until he began to pet the dog soothingly. 

“We have to call him something,” Steve smiled warmly, “Pal will work for now. Why don’t you follow me?’

He was practiced in his examination, moving with slow assurance, always keeping one hand on Pal, so the dog didn’t shy when he had to touch or examine him. Steve kept up a steady flow of chat, and slowly Pal stopped shaking and began to relax. It didn’t escape him that Bucky began to relax too. “Well,” Steve said, washing his hands, “he’s healthy enough, if a little undernourished. He does have fleas. I can take care of that easily enough, and now that he’s had his shots, what’s say we get him a bed and some food?”

“Shouldn’t he have a bath?”

“He’s a little stressed still,” Steve said easily, letting Bucky scoop Pal up and gesturing for him to follow him. Passing by the supply closet, Steve selected a small bed, which Bucky took from him. He collected two bowls and filled one with food, the other with water. Setting them down in the staff kitchen, he watched as Bucky settled Pal down. Staying crouched next to the dog, Bucky watched with eyes as watchful as the dog’s, as Steve poured two cups of coffee. “The bath can wait for tomorrow, when he’s a little more acclimated to being around people. Sugar?”

Bucky stared at him, going red. It took them both a moment, then the smaller man seemed to realize that Steve had been asking how he took his coffee. “Um,” he stuttered, going redder still as Steve’s face turned hot, “Lots of sugar and creamer, please.” He stared at Pal, mumbled, “I like it sweet.”

“Me too,” Steve said, striving to recover his equanimity. Bucky was...cute. Really, painfully cute. The kind of slim, big eyed twink that made Steve’s mouth water. The fact that he had a fantastic ass and an air of vulnerability that made Steve’s heart beat like a kettle drum made it harder to behave professionally. He firmly did _ not _ think about how nice it would be to hear Bucky calling him sugar, how sweet it would be to bring him coffee in bed every day.  _ I’d take such good care of you,  _ he thought dumbly. What on earth was wrong with him? He’d never been so drawn to a man before. But something in Bucky called to him.

They sat in silence, a little awkward, but not uncomfortable, as they watched Pal sniff cautiously at his food before he began to eat. Sipping his coffee, Steve hedged a remark, “Lucky for the little guy that you found him. Not a lot of people out these days.”

Bucky rotated his coffee cup in his right hand. Steve had clocked the prosthetic left arm which the other man kept tucked at his side, but hadn’t remarked on it. There was something fragile, yet stubborn, about Bucky. Steve imagined that his edgy nerves wouldn’t be improved by commenting on his arm, not to mention his mom would smack him upside the head if she knew he’d asked such a personal question. “I needed some stuff,” he mumbled.

Steve let it go. “It happens,” he agreed vaguely. Pal finished his food and began lapping water, tail wagging slightly. He smiled, “Looks like our little buddy is feeling a little more comfortable.”

“Can you keep him?” Bucky asked, gripping his cup tightly, “I’ll pay you for his care, of course.”

“You don’t want to take him with you?” Steve asked.

“I’m not...fit for taking care of anyone.” Bucky’s mouth twisted bitterly, “Can barely take care of myself.”

“Maybe him needing you would be good for you,” Steve suggested. “But if you don’t want him,” he added, seeing Bucky’s flare of worry, “I can kennel him here. Find him a home when all this settles.”

“It's not that I don’t want him,” Bucky insisted, glancing at Pal, as if the dog would have his feelings hurt. “But I wouldn’t be good for him.”   
  


“He might be good for you,” Steve said again. He rose, reaching for Bucky’s mug, “More coffee?”

Bucky looked surprised, “Don’t you want me to leave?”

“Only if you want,” Steve said mildly, back to Bucky, biting down on the urge to tell him he’d love it if he stayed. “Gets kinda lonely here at night, all by myself.”

“Well...if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

They ended up draining the pot, and sharing Steve’s generous lunch, then raiding the staff fridge. Unearthing a frostbitten package of pizza rolls, Steve cooked the lot of them in the toaster oven, and they washed them down with Gatorade and Cheetos. Steve turned on the television and they settled in on the swaybacked couch, watching back to back episodes of ‘Guy’s Grocery Games.’ 

Pal, stomach full, grew bold enough to begin investigating the room. He sniffed cautiously at their shoes, and moving slowly, Steve leaned over and picked the dog up, putting him between them. Bucky reached out a hesitant hand, letting Pal sniff the hook. He shot Steve a sideways look, belligerent and challenging. “Looks like he likes you,” was all Steve said. Holding Bucky’s eyes, wanting him to know he wasn’t put off by the prosthetic, he reached out to pet Pal, letting his fingers casually brush the hook. Bucky stilled, but didn’t pull away, and after a minute he reached with his other hand to scratch lightly at Pal’s floppy ears.

Pal crawled up onto Bucky’s lap, and the other man petted him gently with his right hand. He didn’t put his prosthetic back in his pocket, but instead left it on the couch. Steve rejoiced a little that Bucky was starting to relax around him. Turning back to the TV, he watched, as if absorbed, trying not to fixate on how close Bucky was sitting.

He woke sometime later, the TV still on, the overhead lights blaring annoyingly. Blinking, he took a minute to adjust, waking groggily. He realized with a thrill that Bucky had fallen asleep as well, his head on Steve’s shoulder, Pal curled on his lap. Bucky’s left arm was draped loosely on Steve’s thigh.

Breathing shallowly, worried he would wake them, Steve closed his eyes, smiling, and laid his head over to gently rest against Bucky’s. If he stayed until morning, maybe he could ask him back to his place...make him breakfast. If not, well, he’d ask for his number, ask to see him again.

Steve wasn’t letting go of Bucky so easily.


End file.
